


A Name For Silence

by Anonymous



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: All that dirty stuff no one needs to read, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forever Explicit Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo shuddered when Sean's skillful hands popped the row of buttons on her blouse, eyes blinded to everything but his own. Words tangled into whispers, speaking for their desperation by the rush of their heavy breathing, like the world was robbing them of air and they had no more than a moment left to hold on to. His name was soft on her lips, every letter falling against the brush of bare skin against skin. The moans that escaped in their high left their heartbeats racing, but the sound of nothing, that was the most powerful of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is just the perfect, heated theme for the long, days of summer. 
> 
> Thanks to our organizers and all the other writers for participating in this eXtraordinary Forever Ficathon.
> 
> Comments and kudos show all the love! :)

"Detective Martinez, you're late." Jo took the reprimand from her commanding Lieutenant in silence. She ducked under the yellow tape halting entry to curious tenants in the apartment complex of Savoy Park. The small space of rooms in Unit 13 absorbed the sour smell of daily-eaten bacon and poached egg breakfasts. Next to the armrest of a handed-down couch, a heap of unfolded laundry spilled from a basket, yielding no clues to whether it had been newly washed or three times overworn. Several wired phones stood on a dining table looking out at an undesirable, foggy view of Manhattan's West Side. 

Jo gathered the evidence of the renter's careless lifestyle as she stepped carefully through the messy living room. Along the wall, an over-fed goldfish pressed its kissing mouth against the glass of a round fish tank and gaped with bursting eyes at the commotion outside its plastic, algae-covered, seaweed filled realm.

"It's a fresh one, Jo." Detective Mike Hanson stood over the half covered, long body of a man. His death was so recent that the blood under his smooth skin had not yet drained from the surface and his limp neck sank to the side towards the floor. Jo expected him to breath at any moment and blink open his drooped eyelids to a crowd of uniformed officers poking around his apartment. "Neighbours called the cops when they heard the gunshots upstairs. It wasn't the first time they'd complained of a commotion in here, but nothing close to escalating like this." 

Jo tucked a latex glove between her fingers and knelt by the body. Carefully, she pried a slip of crinkled paper hidden under the victim as she avoided leaving any fingerprints on the evidence. The puzzled expression as she tried to make out what it said prompted Hanson's curiosity. "It's a list of numbers." Jo counted the dollar signs proceeding the rows of six figure digits and threw a suspicious glance up at Hanson. "Pretty big ones, I'd say. If our killer was looking for a chunk of this, I'm willing to bet he was left more than disappointed." 

"This guy was into something up the wrong alley," Hanson replied with conviction. "Check this out." Jo _was_ late to the crime scene; Hanson already had a theory playing forward in his head. 

Jo pinched the paper she'd found between the glove's empty fingers as she walked around the body, where she could better see the pool of blood soaked into the carpet from the bullet hole on the right side of their victim's throat. It had been a close range shot, that much she could tell, though in this apartment, there wasn't much space to run. Surprisingly, the killer had missed the carotid artery and they were spared of a far more grisly scene. "Do we have a name on the vic?"

"His name is Walter Keener," Lieutenant Sharpe intervened, holding open the victim's leather wallet and giving Jo a flash of his license. "He's a registered truck driver, but I'm inclined to question just what kind of deliveries he was making." Sharpe folded together the wallet flaps after removing a business card to the company Keener reported to. Quickly, she dialed the listed phone number on the card and stepped aside, prepared to question the operation.

Detective Hanson turned Jo's attention towards the beaten, wood dining table. A striped, flimsy cushion was untying itself from the chair, stained dark by an old coffee spill their victim, presumably, never bothered to clean up. On the table face, Jo counted six corded phones plugged into two jacks on extension switches and aligned in a half circle. A small ledger lay open in an open compartment shelf littered with uncapped pens and Jo flipped singlehandedly through another dozen pages of scribbled numbers. She was not the first to go through it. The ripped out page she found under Walter's body fit perfectly with the sharp, crooked perforations of the last written on page in the ledger. In its absence and following on the next blank sheet, written in simple penmanship were the words, 'Last Shot'.

"Yep." Hanson confirmed Jo's suspicions aloud when he located Walter's hidden laptop under the couch cushion. "Dude was running a gambling operation from his apartment." Jo joined his side and looked at the illuminated screen. Color wheel slot machines were rolling lucky red cherries and collecting gold tokens from gullible players. A frame in the corner greedily collected every dollar from every participant who made the error of choice to play. At this very moment, forty two culprits were tallying up fallacious points online. Hanson exchanged a look with Jo. "My guess, someone won big and came for his payday." 

"Ok. Let's get ballistics on this and an M.E. on our complete cause of death," Jo announced to urge the scene ahead. "I'm guessing Walter probably had a few more enemies than friends." Grabbing an evidence bag from a passing officer, she shoved the already scrunched up ledger paper inside and pressed together the blue seal. 

"District Attorney Sean Moore." A tall, handsome gentleman with a well-pressed suit strode towards the two Detectives, assertive eyes meeting theirs. At a glance, it was clear he knew what he was about, but his formal demeanor was instantly far from unwelcoming. 

"I think our victim is a little late for a lawyer," Detective Hanson noted without an introduction, but a gesture towards the body.

"Oh, I'm not here for Mr. Keener," D.A. Moore established with a brief smile. In a court of narrow briefcase-wielding functionaries, he would have stood out in both character and suave appearance.

Jo found herself unusually intimidated by his confidence. "Uh, Detective Jo Martinez," she introduced herself with a handshake when Moore turned his notice from Hanson on her, in hopes of a more apparent welcome. She realized how cold her hands were when she felt the contrast of warmth from his. 

D.A. Moore nodded his head in form of a pleasant reply to Jo. "I'll be representing Mr. Joshua Lowers in court, your suspect, who has just come forward for the homicide and been detained by your officers. I wanted to confirm myself that as of current, there is no reason to further pursue the investigation of Mr. Keener's death. Please, allow your medical examiner to establish a final report and forward any records in your possession that contain information pertaining to the victim or possible prior charges against Mr. Lowers."

"That's it?" Detective Hanson seemed displeased in the rapid conclusion of events of what promised to be an interesting gamble on suspects.

The proper gentleman was quick in replying. "I'm afraid not. My client, Mr. Lowers has buried himself deep in charges. He would be reluctant to agree with you, pending his current trial."

A hinting smile crept onto Jo's face when she watched her partner accept the blunt fact that his case was surrendered. "Detective Martinez, you are welcome to accompany my client and I for a formal avowal at the station." D.A. Moore smiled at her unexpectedly and Hanson flicked his bushy brows in silent amazement. Standing between them, Jo wondered with racing thoughts, why in truth, Moore could possibly require her assistance in any further matters. With their suspect already detained, he had no other plausible reason to use her cuffs. 

"Well, I'll be damned if I say you didn't make an impression on that guy." Hanson smirked when the bold lawyer started towards the door. "Look out Jo, you don't want to lose your gun." Jo held back from jabbing Hanson in the rib, but shot him a searing stare instead. Her cold hands had turned hot and nervously, she licked her lips. Following D.A. Moore, she wished she'd spent five minutes longer getting ready this morning. 

xxx

"I figured Walt out right from the get-go." Jo watched a handcuffed Joshua talk animatedly to D.A Moore from behind the glass of the precinct's interrogation room. He followed much of the standard procedures as her at first, as he listened to his client's confession, but a voice and video recorder archived every moment and Moore made regular statements on the progression of Joshua's appeals. "The way he was playing people, promising them a big turnout was just a click on the polished screen button or ten digits away. I went with it, built my rapport with that guy and then came to collect what I knew he never even had." Joshua snorted. "I wish I could tell you I gunned him down in a fit of rage, but I didn't. He had it coming one way or another. Someone had to stop it."

Moore took a deep breath. "Listen, Josh, I appreciate your honest account. This is a trial that will be looked at very hardly in the courtroom with an unjustifiable provocation to murder."

Minute by minute, Jo realized she couldn't hear what Moore was saying; she was so busy listening to the tone of his voice, the way he paused between his forthright sentences. He kept a straight eye with Joshua, never showing irresolution or dismissive inclination. 

A rap on the darkened observation room preceded the entrance of Lieutenant Sharpe. She wore a serious expression of absolute resolve that made Jo straighten up and listen to her immediate request. 

"I have obtained the priors for Joshua Lowers." Sharpe waved the thick folder with Lower's name in her hand. "The Superior Judge should have no challenge in passing a verdict." She shook her head at the interrogation room window. "Detective, could you please review the documents I've marked for release and confirm that our M.E. has started on Keener's autopsy."

"Lieu, I," Jo responded with a countering resolve, "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay and watch through the end of the statement." 

"Jo, I believe District Attorney Moore has a straight and solid path to the trial," Lieutenant Sharpe replied. "We have more pressing matters to pursue in our jurisdiction."

Holding the door open for Jo, Sharpe denied her any further question and ushered her out to finish the work she mentioned. Detective Hanson had against his will, abandoned her at the precinct this evening for a trying evening at school meetings. He always went into the classroom with his gold badge on his belt and pulled up in his cruiser like he was on duty and pressed for time. He liked to think he made his two boys proud when he arrived in such an impressive way, but Jo knew the facade was merely so he could threaten his boy's arrests if their grades were slipping.

"Detective Martinez," Jo heard a newly familiar voice behind her and stopped at her desk before turning with an anticipating manner. D.A. Moore walked straight towards her with a furrow across his forehead. "Would it be perilous to ask you to join me for a cup of coffee?" He spared no time being modest and his offer was entirely unconventional.

Jo felt a knot tighten in her stomach, an unfamiliar feeling she instantly tried to reject. "Oh, D.A. Moore..." she hesitated on her reply.

"Please, call me Sean," he surprised her by pursuing his forward step with an insistent, informal initiation.

It was the first, long close look Jo had taken of the tight-suited gentleman since their meeting, but by the tone of his request, she doubted it would be merely coffee.

xxxxx

"I can't say I've seen that before," Jo said with a smile, dipping her leg from the low barstool wrung and tilting back a glass of wine towards her lips. Sean's restaurant of choice was by far not an intimate, quiet-atmosphere venue; coffee was certainly no where in sight. Friends chatted in groups at the high tables and co-workers caught up on weekend getaways or useless diets they'd gained ten pounds from. In a corner booth, three people delved their forks into one bowl of pasta and threw in a few words to each other between every bite. It took sitting here under the scattered lights on 9th Avenue to make Jo realize how long she'd dodged a social gathering.

"What?" Sean asked. He watched her casually from his seat and glanced at her honey shaded reflection on the rows of whiskey bottles and port behind the counter. It danced like a tempting flame when she moved and he shifted in his seat.

"A suspect surrendering to a crime like that?" Jo leaned an elbow on the bar rim as she mused on the morning's closed case. 

"A guilty conscience makes for a perfect alibi," Sean twirled the dark red wine around his glass like a connoisseur at a vineyard tasting. "Though, if we had too many of those we'd be out of a job."

"I guess so," Jo nodded, feeling the heat creeping up on her skin when Sean's eyes refused to waiver from hers. She almost asked for an ice water to sip on and cool her flushed cheeks. 

Sean inched forward before he spoke. "In my family, we always said, you can't decide for anyone's fate, not even your own."

Jo thought on his words. Too many times she couldn't even imagine she wouldn't manage to clear so many days on the job. When she received her badge and gun, for a second she was sure she'd made an irreversible mistake. Tonight, she was determined to give fate the biggest challenge in her life.

Sean knew he was staring, but he couldn't tear his eyes off her Jo. She didn't brush her hair back every time it fell over her eyes and the way it framed her face was absolutely beautiful. A little flustered, he cleared his throat by downing the rest of his wine. "So, Detective, is there anything else I can lend you a hand with?"

"Yeah,"Jo hinted a smile with her sudden, unusual, bold request. "Actually, I think there is. Maybe you can help me finish another bottle of this exceptional wine."

Sean's lips curved into a smile and he briefly touched her arm with his broad palm. A shock pulsed like electricity through his veins and the loud music was a thankful distraction to concealing the unrestrained moan that slipped between his lips. "Well, Detective, that I can do."


	2. Eyes On Me

That last glass of wine at Nizza's, where they sat until midnight pouring out more conversation than drink and the waiters, seeing Jo's badge and gun, failed to usher them from the restaurant until she and Sean stumbled out on their own. They found an after hours band playing music from crooked sheet stands and Sean started dancing along.  
That's when he had her.  
Jo kept waiting for it to wear off, but his hold on her was so tight that she couldn't breath. A dozen times since that night they'd spent walking under the dazzling lights, eating salty, roasted chestnuts, Jo never used to like. She was entirely enamored, not quite believing Sean when he told her how perfectly extraordinary she, herself was. 

xxx

Jo walked two steps ahead of Sean in her eagerness to be privy in being the first detective on the still unveiled main floor of the 11th. The sparse, dim ceiling rods left lit for the night, gave just enough light to see the clean array of desks, wiped boards, and file cabinets of the renovated precinct.

"Well, it's nice." Jo was doing all she could not to focus her attention on Sean, who, looking his best in a simple grey button-down, made it entirely difficult for her to contemplate whether she actually liked the office. The slightly slippery floor was polished so brightly, she felt lightheaded when her eyes landed on it and blurred as she tried to silence her helplessly fast breathing. "What do you think?" Jo already knew not to expect a reply from Sean. 

"I think," his low voice sounded over her shoulder. "It quite pales in my eyes tonight. Shame." Sean's arms unexpectedly snuck around Jo's waist. This was the last thing she needed right now-ready to devour the only person she could think about for the last five months in the most law-abiding place in Manhattan. Still, her eyes drifted across the room to where her chair stood in line to her desk and the freshly painted wall reflected a slick white shine. How close could he frame her to it as he brushed back her hair and kissed her senseless. Sean breathed into the crook of her neck, fuelling her fantasy. He would sit her on the edge of the desk, paperwork be damned, and bring her hips to his groin. One by one, she'd feel her clothes come off and drop onto the floor. He'd twist his fingers around the elastic of her panties, and _oh!_

"Wow, those thoughts are rolling fast," Sean froze her imagination and left her reeling. 

"I was just thinking, where I should lock my gun," she stuttered in response. At the moment, she felt unqualified to handle a fully loaded weapon, much less able to stand straight on her shaky legs.

"I think the safest place for it is right here where it is." Jo doubted that very much. Sean traced the groove of her hip with his thumb to prove his point, until she leaned into his weight and felt another growing, larger hard tip on the back of her leg. She definitely needed to lose her gun.

  


Wet fingers touched on his lips.

Jo pressed her hand firmly to her skin as she trailed her fingers down her stomach and under the belt of her slim denim pants. Bottom lip pinched between her teeth, she ran her palm past the thin fabric of her black, lace panties and tucked finger after finger against her bare skin. She leaned back against the wall with a short catch of her breath at the sensation of her own touch on her wet sex. In the dim lights of the 11th precinct, Sean's eyes followed shamelessly.

Shutting eyes sinking her into a fragile darkness, Jo rubbed slow circles over her clit; the close fitting denim pulsing only more pressure into her fingertips. Every torturous rub lasted ever as long for Sean, who'd long undone his tie in the elevator, where Jo's kisses along the nape of his neck at the count of every floor, left his lungs desperate for air. Drawing her hand from her pants, Jo tried to keep her fingers from trembling in their slow retreat away from her body to his. She could hold a weapon without a flinch or repress a shaky hold on the trigger, but the narrow space between her and Sean seemed impossible to reach with a steady hand.

Nothing so daring had ever crossed her mind. Tomorrow her desk in the fresh precinct would be piling up with paperwork and case files. The hallway cameras would roll again, capturing the tedious routine of treading officers and cuffed suspects in mostly menial pursuits. It would smell like cheap coffee and the phones would ring incessantly. They'd all want something from her.  


She swore she'd never want anything from anyone again. Only this. Sean's hands on her hips, the testimony of his rigid desire pushing against her thigh now.

Jo silenced Sean's sigh with a cross of her index and middle fingers over his mouth, leaving the taste of her wetness on his lips, before she watched him trace over them with his tongue. Impatient, Sean forged the space between their bodies inch by inch, wanting to feel nothing but Jo's smooth skin under his hands. Burning, blushed lips met his open mouth as Jo led on his need to hold her bare body against his chest. Left to his sense of touch, he blindly popped the row of buttons on her burgundy blouse and yanked it so rapidly past her shoulders that she heard the chiffon fabric ripping, until the cold wall she leaned back on replaced the hot shirt she'd been waiting for him to take off since they woke the sleeping, empty building. 

For a split moment, Sean drew back to look at the perfect woman, who's flawless frame he cradled in his strong arms. Her trust spoke strongest through her gaze at him and when he breathed out on her neck again, she took a sharp breath in. Sean needed to leave his mark on every inch of her, be sure he'd memorized every curve of her back and hips. When his kisses reached between her breasts, he tugged on the back straps of her lace trimmed, black bra, bringing both her breasts up towards him. Jo moaned when the bottom of her bra cut along her skin, only making every part of her more sensitive to as little as a brush of Sean's fingertips. The thin clasp loosened away from her spine and Sean's tongue replaced the fabric against her firm nipple. It was his turn to tease her and despite his own desire to push her to the floor and take her completely, he sucked her nipple slowly, cupping her other breast in the palm of his warm hand.

"I hope no one starts an early shift tomorrow," he cracked a smile when he brought his fingers lower to unhook the wide belt on her jeans. Briefly, Jo remembered where they were as he unzipped their front. 

Feeling its heavy weight around her waist, Jo freed her gun from the clip on her belt, but the ledge of her desk was too far away to set it down. She wanted to step closer when Sean's teeth skimmed over her soft skin and sent a shot of pain from her collarbone to make her gasp, distracting her thought. Her weightless arm fell alongside her leg, the weapon dangling in her loosening grip.

"Sean, I, I..." A sudden, hot throbbing between Jo's legs left her close to climax and she held her edge on his mercy. Relentlessly, Sean parted the front flaps of her jeans and teased over her panties, rubbing her aching clit faster, until she came to his touch. 

Jo dropped her gun, but her heavy moan muffled the sound of its clamour on the floor. 

_Shit._ She was losing her authority by the minute as she fell apart completely in Sean's grasp. Still, as she slowly fluttered open her eyes to find Sean's lips again, she wanted him inside her. 

"God, I love you," Sean whispered against Jo's lips in a tender voice and she blushed, letting a slow kiss speak for her same fervid emotion. 

Her fingers, now free, stripped the fabric from Sean's back as they turned his shirt inside out over his head. His well-combed hair was a mess, but Jo ran her hands through it and only tangled it more. Hot and wound up in pleasure, she wasted no time in removing his pants and briefs, at last offering him the smallest bit of ease. Tinging hands sliding down his length, Jo smiled while she watched Sean grit his teeth and grind himself forward into her palm. He barely silenced the cry that escaped with his nearing finish. Sensing the thin line he was on the cusp of crossing, Jo pulled her fingers away. With Sean's patience worn to nothing, he slid Jo down along the wall and pushed her further until the cold floor met her as a perfect relief. The pain of the hard surface on every bump of her spine was dulled by the feeling of Sean's body hovering over her.

Roughly, Sean jerked Jo's jeans and flimsy panties off her hips and tossed them amongst the spreading array of clothes littering the floor. In his same desperate need, he spread her weak legs wider and easily slid his length into her. Jo's fingers skimmed lightly up his back as he rocked his hips to the rhythm of hers. His groan spoke for the pulsing rush of his hard shaft inside her and he arched over her, digging himself deeper with every frantic thrust. The spacious room that surrounded them and the vastness of the city, held out by only these walls, seemed impossible for her to imagine. His lips lost touch with her moving body, when he panted for air, eyes narrowing until they shut. Defenseless in his long resisted release, Sean whimpered in Jo's ear as his steady, fast thrusts slowed in her arms, to seconds of stillness. He shuddered and filled her with another wave of ecstasy. Muscles clenching, she bent her hips upward, letting Sean bury his head farther into her shoulder as the bursts of his high weakened like the clutch of his arms.

They sank from their high together with heavy breaths. Jo's eyes followed the arrows on the clock over her desk until her racing heartbeat matched the ticking rhythm. Her chest rose against Sean's weight on her as she calmly ran her fingers along the sides of his body. Her gentle kiss with Sean when he lifted his head to look into her wide, content eyes was slow and new. She never thought she'd surrender her hard worked for title and badge for love, but if he'd asked her right now if she could share her life with him and spare room for a ring on her finger, she doubted she'd even have the words to answer in her happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hot damn, could it be love...


	3. Last Word

Jo twisted the gold wedding band around her ring finger with her thumb. Over and over she heard the slam of the door, Sean's suitcase in her way. Her hurried steps down the stone, front-street steps and angry twist of the keys in the ignition. She winced and shook her head. Sean had sent her one message yesterday afternoon from Washington D.C., resilient on offering no apology before her on their argument two nights ago. She had simply thrown her phone aside and refused to reply.

"Morning, Jo," Detective Hanson said, waving a hello towards her desk with the cup of coffee in his hand. For eight in the morning, he was unusually excited to face the new police case reports from overnight. His boys must have made the bus and finished the school volcano projects they'd been gluing and erupting on his kitchen table for a week. Sean had always joked about their having children, assured by the idea that Jo would take any bad manners far more seriously than him. He'd take them to the park and buy them frosted animal crackers.

The ring of her cell phone startled her as Jo turned her head in anticipation for Sean's picture to appear. She suddenly wanted to apologize. A blank screen with an unfamiliar number replaced her short hope, but she answered anyway.

"Detective Jo Martinez?" the authoritative voice asked without waiting for a confirming reply. "This is Chief Justice Kellan of Washington's Judicial Court. I'm calling about your husband Sean Moore." Jo sat up straight in her chair, its wheels rolling forward a few inches. "I was just informed that your husband collapsed at his hotel earlier this morning. He was taken by emergency to the hospital, but I understand there was no success in reviving him." There was a cold silence on both ends of the line. "I wanted to personally offer my deepest condolences from both myself and the entire States Judicial system for your loss. Mr. Moore was one of the highest, most regarded officials I had the pleasure of working beside and I am truly saddened to hear of his unexpected passing. If there is any grievance support you need provided..." Chief Kellan offered.

"No," Jo cut short his hollow words. "No, thank you." She barely felt the phone in her numb hand when she hung up and turning her screen face down, lay it on the desk. A laughing Sean stared back at her from the photograph beside the old, downcast plotted plant she'd managed to save in all the years since college. Wrapped under his arm, she was laughing too. With haste, Jo picked her phone up again and searched for Sean's last message.

_'Landed in D.C. Rain hasn't let up. Talk soon._

With unsteady fingers and eyes blurred by welling tears, Jo typed letter by letter into the empty text box under Sean's short point and pressed send without a thought. The message showed up on her glaring screen like a silence conversation that hung on merely a few words.

_'I'm sorry and I love you.'_

  


"Jo?" a cautious voice prodded her softly as it grew close. It was comfortingly familiar, but not the one she was looking for. She filled her lungs sharply with air that felt like shards of glass and blinked at the stack of papers under her outstretched arms across the desk. The stark words of Chief Justice Kellan repeated so loudly in her head that she felt, clutching her cell phone, as though she'd only just hung up from his call. Shaken, Jo raised her tired eyes. Dr. Henry Morgan was standing in front of her. "What are you doing here now?" His eyes reviewed the open forms before her; they were hardly important enough to pursue after her shift, but she escaped into their mundane format like he did day after day, learning from the dead. "Surely, Detective, you must go home and get some rest."

Jo's mouth curved into a brief, but sad smile. "Yeah, well sometimes I think I'm better at work than sitting with a carton of Chinese takeout, watching reruns of shows I never payed attention to the first time. The silence can be so loud, I just can't stand it." She released the phone from her tight grip and set it down on her desk. Henry's eyes followed hers to the framed photo with Sean. "You know, after they called me and told me Sean was dead, I stayed at work the rest of the day, never saying a word to anyone else and trying to forget that conversation ever happened." Jo confessed her denial. "There was no chance I was going to believe that he just collapsed. I mean people like him didn't die that way."

"The worst memories hit out of nowhere," Henry replied simply. He'd have easily run from the countless ones of his own, but the minutes and seconds he was desperate to abandon, lived as much in his future as he had lived them in his past. "We all have our own way of dealing with grief; some of us feel it more deeply than others, but the loss is no different."

"I guess you always take it for granted, when they're there. You can be angry at them, but you expect to fix it somehow. That it'll just fall together." Jo dipped her head to the side. "The crime scene today was at the same apartment building where I met Sean. When I walked in there, it was like he was supposed to be right behind me." Henry recalled her standing in the entryway on the worn, printed carpet with a blank stare in her eyes. "You know, I can't, for the life of me, remember his voice." The hurt in Jo's own voice was impossible to mistaken. "Every time I'm with someone, I want to whisper his name, like maybe he's hiding somewhere and my touch will bring him back from the disguise he's been wearing all these years." Jo was quiet a moment. "I always stop myself before I say it because I'm so afraid that when I do, it will hit me that the voice that escapes between the lips trailing down my neck, whispering my name isn't his." She sighed. "I just hope someday, I can say a name without waiting for his reply."

"There will forever be a part of you waiting for him; a stranger to make you turn your head, thinking it's him. For a moment it will be so real, you'll forget he ever left you and won't understand why he isn't as frantically searching for you." Henry wrapped a deep blue scarf around his neck loosely as he watched Jo slowly nod to his words. He smiled, decided that tonight, he would appreciate Jo's desire to be alone. "Goodnight, Detective."

"Henry," Jo said into the nearly empty precinct, watching him leave, coat over arm towards the elevator. The mysterious Doctor turned and met her eyes from a distance without a word. His name lingered on her lips and the quiet of his response made her want to break the stillness. Taking her own leather jacket from her chair, Jo shoved aside the bent files and followed Henry to the elevator. Her head was spinning with a sudden burst of things to say and yet, when neither of them said a word, Jo found herself in a brilliant silence she didn't fight to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely was this a shameless piece to write, but amidst all that naughty stuff, I wanted to capture the moments of Jo and Sean's love through more than just that. It wasn't entirely about physical attraction or connection between them; they really found something much deeper in each other. What a devastating thing it must have been to Jo; finding out that the one person she gave everything to, was gone. 
> 
> Still, maybe, just maybe, there really is a name for silence...


End file.
